Poetry: Cigarettes are money. Cigarettes are history.

when all we had to write on was rolling papers all we had to smoke in was rolling papers & we had to smoke, had to befuzzle the light with airborne oils mixed with what our bodies wouldn't let in, what our bodies decided they were tired of & threw away.

only so many matches, tithing me with caustic accumulation tiny silver wires thickening the soil until it thinks it's concrete too solid for any one or thing to pass through, only smoke so rich or stupefied

it sees the sun at the center of the earth and wants to grow there, wants to obscure its light, scramble the gravitic transmissions.

can't be seen outside, checking the sidewalks for unburnt ends booby trapped with dried secrets, secrets we keep from ourselves, truths that can only be uttered exhaling a mouthful of smoke.

-- Dan Raphael, Portland

Since arriving in Portland in 1977, Raphael has been active in the poetry community as poet, performer, editor and reading arranger. "Cigarettes are Money. Cigarettes are History" appears in his latest book, "The State I'm In," which caps an 18-month period that began with the publication of his collection "Impulse & Warp" and includes the jazz-spoken word CD "Children of the Blue Market" (with Rich Halley and Carson Halley). Raphael reads at 7 p.m. Monday at Three Friends Coffee House, 201 S.E. 12th Ave.

Submissions to the Poetry column may be emailed to poetry@oregonian.com or addressed to Poetry, The Oregonian, 1320 S.W. Broadway, Portland, OR 97201. Please include a self-addressed stamped envelope and/or full contact information (email address, phone number and postal address). If your work is selected for the column, you will be contacted. All poems are read; only those chosen for publication will receive a reply.